Insight (9 page)

“I’ll try, Dad. But I don’t know…” Lacey’s vision fills my head. “I don’t know how to make things turn out differently.” And if I find out that I can make things different, I’ll know I could have changed things for Lacey, and how much worse would I feel?

“You don’t have to change anything. I just need some details.” His voice is quiet.

“I’ll try.” It feels like the weight I just lost in knowing I’m not alone, was just added back on.

“I’ve never opened myself up to anyone but your mom. I don’t want to lose Carol.” He leans his head back on the couch.

“
Mom
?” This can’t be right.

“I loved her very much. Your mother was a kind of fantasy for me.” He chuckles. “Gorgeous, fun, a million miles higher on the social ladder than I’d ever be. I’m only saying this because you’re old enough to hear it.”

“I guess I always assumed it was just some passing thing.” I’m starting to relax back into the couch, but only because I feel helpless in a million different ways.

“For her, it was. Not for me. I could see her moving on before she did.” Dad runs his hand over his nearly bald head.

“Wow.” We sit in silence for a few moments. “How did you two end up…close?”

He’s lost in thought, smiling and staring into the fire. “I won two tickets to this little island in the Bahamas. There was some research I wanted to do. I took a chance and asked your mom to come. Has she never told you this?”

“She did. I want to hear your side.” I wait for him to say more.

“She started to pull away after a few days down there together. I think she felt bad. Like she was taking advantage of me, knowing I felt more than she did. I’m sure she also worried about what I’d expect from her when we returned. I promised her that I’d let her go when we got home, and be okay about it, if she’d just let herself enjoy the time with me.”

“And she did.” Mom had always told me that they spent an amazing week together, but that’s all it was meant to be. A week.

“She did.”

“And when you got back she was pregnant and kind of freaked out and took off?” I ask.

“You’d know better than me.” He readjusts and stretches his legs out and watches the flames. He’s done reminiscing.

I lean my head onto his shoulder. “Dad? Why can I do this? See things? What purpose does it serve? Where does it come from?” I know he doesn’t know, but I feel this compulsion to ask all the same.

“I don’t know. I wish I could help you. Give you some answers.” He kisses the top of my head.

“It’s okay.”
Only it’s not okay. Parents are supposed to know things. Dad does what I can do, and he’s been doing it a lot longer. He should definitely have some answers by now. Or maybe there aren’t any answers to get. Maybe we’re just a bizarre anomaly.

“I love you, Micah. You know that, right? I mean I don’t talk…and we…”

“I know it, Dad. I love you, too.” I close my eyes and soak up the warmth.

How has it taken eighteen years for this to come out? Why did he never ask me before if it’s something he can do? Will I end up as quiet as he is? He’s not alone now, but he’s been alone for a while. Will that be me? Will I be able to find a way to have close friends? A boyfriend? It feels impossible. Dad living alone for most of his life isn’t very encouraging.

***

Carol and I stand in front of the dressing room mirror together, staring. “I agree with you that it’s beautiful.” I look over my shoulder at her. “But I can’t think of when I’d wear it.”

She lets out a sigh. “Well I don’t want to take prom dress shopping away from your mom, but it would be perfect for that.
Scott
…well, your dad, said that you’re headed to college. I’m sure you’d find an opportunity to wear it then.”

“Blue silk chiffon?” I run my hands down the fabric again.

“With your blond hair and blue eyes?”

It’s the strapless, silk version of a beach dress. The bodice is wrapped into these tiny folds and layers of fabric but is fitted. The waist is slightly high and the skirt is slim but gathered. The hem touches the floor, and I feel like a goddess. The silk chiffon is thin and layered, making the dress look like the ocean when it moves. I realize I’ve been staring at myself for too long.

“Please?” Her excited smile is impossible to say no to.

“Thank you.” I hug her.

Dad’s face. Sadness. He’s bent over the railing of the bed. Her hand in his. A hospital bracelet and standard equipment.

I strain to make out the lettering on the bracelet, but the grey type is impossible to read.

“This has been fun, Micah. Thanks for letting me tag along.” Her smile is relaxed. I realize that she was probably a lot more nervous to meet me than I was to meet her.

“You’re not the one tagging along.” I point to Dad half-asleep in the
chair outside the waiting room amazed that I can slough off the vision fast enough to sound normal.

She laughs. “We’ll meet you out there. I’ll go wake up your dad.”

I don’t want to, but I reach out and touch her shoulder again hoping to see something new. Anything.

Same, same.

My chest sinks a little. I’m not going to be able to help. Dad and I are finally really talking, and I’m going to let him down.

***

The few days at Dad’s house are devoted to spending time with Carol—bracing myself to touch her over and over. I search for details, but can’t see
anything that could
help Dad know why she’s there. What’s the point? What’s the point of knowing about things we can’t change? I’m more frustrated than I’ve ever been, and can’t wait to go home.

I find my seat on the plane and stare out the window. My legs are pressed against the wall, away from the guy next to me. I should be safe. I close my eyes and think about Carol. I try to see the picture in my mind. The hospital bed has grey and white railings.  Dad’s face is a mixture of sadness and despair. The monitors are so far on the periphery, I can’t see them at all. I start to drift off when I realize her bracelet has a heart on it. A small one. It might be nothing
,
but it might be something.

I scroll to Dad’s number and hit send with trembling fingers. Maybe I haven’t let him down.

“Micah? Is there a problem?” His voice sounds stressed.

“On her bracelet, there’s a small red heart.” I want to get out the most important parts before I’m asked to turn off my cell.

“What?”

“The picture. Of Carol. A small red heart.”

I hear him
exhale
. “Wow, Micah. Thank you.”

“I don’t know if it will help, but it might.” I hope it does. I hope it gives Dad something to go on.

“It helps.” His side is silent for a moment. “Let’s not let so much time go by before we get together again, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.” I hang up as the plane starts to move. I’m relieved I was able to contribute something, even if it doesn’t change anything in the end. I also have relief over finally having someone to talk to about the crazy things I see.

The drone of the airplane engines pulls me into sleep as the plane starts to climb. I have a long way to go to get home. And a lot of stuff I don’t want to deal with waiting for me when I get there.

TEN

It’s raining lightly, and my hair is unruly curly in this weather. I knot it up as best I can, but my rubber band breaks, and I give up, letting it fall over my shoulders and down my back. I can reach my hand up behind me and feel the bottom of it. I should probably go in for a haircut, or have Mom do it for me. That seems a lot easier. I just have to hope that nothing too graphic between her and Ethan is running through her head. It actually makes me feel guilty and uncomfortable on a lot of levels. It’s probably not worth the risk, even from Mom. My hair might just continue to grow.

I’ve been scouring the internet for ages looking for anything else related to the voodoo woman and doll burning for my school group project and coming up almost empty. All the stories take things too far, and make this less of a history project, and more of a ghost story. Nearly everything I’ve found says that she gave up all her magic before she died as penance for the people who were cast into shadow. Sons, daughters, and family of the people shoved between the life of the living and the life of the dead were given gifts. Talents. It’s all like the information my group has already collected. I’m not adding anything new to the project.

Even though it’s just a story, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I think about the idea of pe
ople who move through shadows—s
pread across the world seeking their descendants so the magic that was passed down can set them free. Whoever came up with this, had a pretty crazy imagination. I wish that I knew what the supposed “talents” are. Everything along th
ose lines is pure speculation—
from
fortune-
telling to manipulation to all sorts of extra sensory perception.

Another chill runs through me as I sit in the empty house. I need the ocean.

I follow our path through the woods, and my feet slip and slide on the wet roots and mud. The sand from the beach will be sticky in this weather, but I can still sit on the dock for a while.

A whisper of something through the giant ferms leaves them swaying,
and I squint,
seeing nothing that could have been the cause
.
But still they sway as if someone just moved through them.

Nothing. There’s nothing.

But my heart pounds louder as I step off the trail into the woods. Because as much as I want to believe it was nothing, I’m sure I saw
something
. The woods are full of things that move. Small
er
ferns hide my feet, and the wide, tall trees stretch above me for what feels like miles. I scan the trees. Okay. This is ridiculous. It was probably a bird, or a deer, or… Well, there are a lot of choices. Only now all I can think about is that stupid project we’re working on in world history.
Curse
Landon and his stupid love of the Bahamas. Shadows. Seriously.

I pull in a breath as I realize that my brain’s just playing tricks on me, and continue toward the water. If only I could get my heart to slow down as soon as I figured the movement was all in my head.

I get three steps onto the wide dock when I hear laughter. Someone must be behind the wooden boathouse—I can’t see them since it’s almost as large as the house I live in.

A girl, and then a boy’s voice. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I’m not the first person here. Are they
in
the boat house? Behind it? I’m not sure, and it doesn’t seem worth the risk. I turn back and start up the path back home.

“Michael.” A girl laughs behind me. “Is that right?”

“It’s Micah,” I say. I turn to see Brigitte underneath Landon’s arm. She knows my name.

Her arms are wrapped around his waist. her hair is tousled by the rain, and whatever they were up to before I arrived. Landon stumbles as he walks next to her.

“Whatever.” She laughs. “Like it matters.”

“No, no.” Landon shakes his head.
“Be nice. M
icah’s nice.” His speech slurs,
and his smile wobbles on his face.

Brigitte sputters out a laugh. They’ve both been drinking. The smell burns my nose. How could he? After Lacey? How could
she
?

I can’t walk away. I just stand in place, watching them walk toward me. I need to turn and go.
Go!
But I can’t make myself do it.

I step off the sidewalk as they move by me. Landon’s arm brushes my hand and my face is all I can see. From Landon. AGAIN.

My blond hair is down. The sun’s shining. My eyes are closed. He likes me. I feel the pull in his chest. My face looks soft and peaceful
,
and there’s a small smile on my lips.

There are so many things wrong with what I’m seeing that I suddenly don’t know
anything
. I gasp
for air.

Landon stops with a giggling Brigitte underneath his arm. “You okay?” His eyebrows pull together and his face is suddenly all seriousness. Brigitte pulls him toward the house but he doesn’t move. His hazel eyes stare into mine.

I gotta go. Gotta run.

His hand reaches for my arm.

Anger. Frustration. He’s running toward me. Steven’s to his right. I’m in the woods next to someone
dark that
I can’t see.

Not this one again. First from Steven, and now from Landon. Maybe I prefer the one where he likes me.

I’m finally able to move my feet. Relief. I turn and run.

When I get near the house I pull out my cell and dial Dad’s number with shaky fingers. I have never. Never. Called my dad for advice before, ever. But things between us are different now. And why did I have to see myself? Why does Landon like me? Why is he running toward me?

“Micah?” Dad answers.